


500. broken clock

by piggy09



Series: The Sestre Daily Drabble Project [343]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 21:57:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11135481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: The woman across from Sarah rummages in her pocket, pulls out a handful of bills. Slaps them on the table between them. “Take the train,” she says.





	500. broken clock

Sarah has been gone for ten months, and today’s the day she catches a train back home. She’s decided on it. Cocaine from Vic in her bag, money in her bag, a mouthful of apologies and—

Wait. Shit. Money in her bag, she’d put the money in—

_Fuck_.

Here is Sarah, standing in the train station, utterly fucking useless. The next train for Toronto leaves in half an hour, and she’s going to miss it. In her hand: five dollars. One crumpled bill. She could sell the coke here but she doesn’t know anyone here and Vic will be looking, he’ll be looking for her—

She inhales and exhales. The exhale comes out a lot less teary than the inhale. Alright, then. She’ll figure it out. Pick some pockets, jump a turnstile, she’s going _home_ and nothing in this whole bloody city is going to stop her. So.

Sarah goes to the station’s shitty coffee shop, orders a shitty tea, sits down at a table and stares at the cup in silence. She’s jittering despite herself, bouncing to some invisible rhythm; it’s so easy to get caught in it that she startles when someone sits down at her table.

“Do you _mind_ —” she starts, and stops.

“Hello, Sarah,” says the woman with her face. Peacefully. She seems completely unalarmed, and also is holding a muffin. She gestures to her hair with the hand not holding the muffin. “I like your hairs,” she says. “I did not know you also used the bleach.”

“Who the _hell are you_ ,” Sarah says, severely rattled.

Across the table: a shrug, and then half of the muffin devoured. “I am called a coincidence,” says the stranger, through a mouthful of muffin. “Or maybe a dream. Or,” she swallows, and her voice gets clearer, “you can call me sister.”

“You’re – you’re my sister,” Sarah says. “What – _how_ , exactly, I—”

“Mm,” says the woman who may or may not be Sarah’s sister, and she shakes her head. “Not enough time. Sorry. I will tell you later, or you will tell me and then you will know that you told me and also know why I cannot tell you.” She rummages in the pocket of her puffy vest – over the pastel sweater, it’s weirdly suburan chic – and pulls out a handful of bills. Slaps them on the table between them. “Take the train,” she says.

“What train.” Sarah doesn’t look away from the money. She could grab it and run, she should grab it and run, she’s curious, she hates it.

“You know the train,” says Sarah’s sister. “You will take it and many bad things will happen to you, and I am sorry, and I am some of those bad things, and I am sorry, but you will do bad things to me and because of this I think we are even.” She stops, looks conflicted. “But also many good things will happen to you. And because of you.”

“What,” Sarah says, “the hell. What – are you insane? Is that—” she looks around, furtively, for hidden cameras or some god winking from the corner, a sign that this is a joke.

“No,” says Sarah’s sister. “I am from…” (she gestures vaguely) “a long time from now. Things are okay. But.” She shrugs. “I had to go back, to make sure. Is long story. You will understand it in the future.” She tilts her head to the side. “I do not think you will be remembering this very well.”

Seems impossible to forget. What the hell sort of incident could wipe _this_ out.

“Sarah?” says the woman whose name Sarah still doesn’t know.

“What.”

Perplexingly: a moment of quiet. “Things will be okay,” Sarah’s sister says haltingly. “You are good, and very brave, and you will make things okay in the end. Even with your leg, and with the problems with the very old man. Not Swan Man. The other swans man.”

Sarah slowly slides her hand across the table and takes the money while the woman is mumbling to herself. It’s enough for a train ticket. It’s enough to take her home, to finally conclude this chapter of the shitty story she somehow got trapped in. She’s weirdly focused on the idea of it: stepping off the train, reconnecting with Siobhan, seeing Kira again. God, Kira. Sarah doesn’t even know what she’ll say to her – _you’ve been so good, I’m so sorry, I’m staying now._

“I am saying things wrong,” says the voice that is almost Sarah’s voice, and then hands cover her hands. Sarah tenses – instinct, impulse, take-the-coke-and-take-the-money-and-run-Sarah-run-Sarah-run – but nothing else happens. Just hands over her hands. Her muscles coil in on themselves anyways, wary and desperate.

“Sarah,” says Sarah’s sister. “Sarah. Listen to me. You are so good, and so brave, and you will make it. Even when it seems like you won’t. I am here from when everything is good, and everyone is safe, and the monsters are soft or gone. You will make it there. You will come see me, and we will have cake.”

She lets Sarah’s hands go and the motion inside of Sarah catapults her awkwardly out of her chair. Fifteen minutes ‘til the next train leaves for Toronto, and she’s just – standing here, staring at the woman who does and does not look exactly like her.

“You can go,” she says to Sarah quietly. “You need to catch this train.”

“Is that really – that’s it?” Sarah says, shifting onto her back foot. “You came from the bloody future just to give me the money to catch my bloody train and tell me I’m – brave, or whatever.”

“Yes,” says Sarah’s sister sadly. “That is all that I can do. Everybody gave me the money. They said to tell you how good you are, but I already knew.” She rests her elbows on the table, rests her chin on her hands. “Good luck, Sarah,” she says. “I am very sorry for all the mean things I will say to you when I did not know better.”

A soothing prerecorded voice speaks over the intercom, and they’re talking about Sarah’s train. The next train leaving is Sarah’s train, and this woman who is her sister knows. Sarah keeps backing towards the door, tea abandoned on the table, but then she stops. Despite the muffled clamor of the coffeeshop she knows the sound will carry.

“Is it really gonna be okay,” she says.

“Yes,” says Sarah’s sister, a smile tugging up the corner of her mouth. “Go get on your train, Sarah.”

The money is a sweaty crumpled mess in Sarah’s fist. She runs for the ticket office, and she is going to be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please kudos + comment if you enjoyed! :)


End file.
